Baby I'm Back
by xhigh-functioningsociopathx
Summary: My Post-Reichenbach story   Containing Moran, hints of Mystrade, and definitely some Johnlock. My gay-dar is going off posting this.


It had been three years since his fall, three years since he had faked his own death to save the ones he loved. In that time, Sherlock had successfully travelled the world and hunted down all but one of Moriarty's employees. Moran was the last, Colonel Sebastian Moran. He was the only one whose alias Sherlock hasn't yet found and sadly, Moran was the most lethal of Moriarty's assassins. Sherlock pulled up his hood and casually turned onto Baker Street. It was dangerous, very dangerous being so close to John. But Sherlock had to see John..._even if John couldn't see him._

Sherlock had taken precautions upon returning to London. He wasn't about to risk John, Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade's lives any more than necessary when his very existence puts them at risk. He hadn't planned on coming back until he finished off all Moriarty's minions, but he had received Intel that Moran operated in London, unlike the others. Sherlock's heart picked up when he saw a police car outside 221B and Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Anderson, and John all standing around it.

Since his return to London, Sherlock had frequently checked up on his old flatmate and was surprised to hear he had taken over as the world's only Consulting Detective. _Well, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way._ And now from the looks of things, Scotland Yard had a case for John. A serious one if that idiot was there. Anderson didn't ever go to the flat unless it was serious, unless he had too. Sherlock casually sat down next to homeless man just within earshot of the group.

"Cigarette?" Sherlock held one out for the man as if to tell him not to ask questions.

As he thankfully took it, Sherlock concentrated on Detective Inspector Lestrade, "And that's all we got. The sister is the most likely suspect as of right now."

Sherlock pulled out his lighter and started smoking with the stranger next to him. He had tried to keep with the nicotine patches, but without John there to help him, he couldn't keep it up. After a minute or so of smoking his cigarette, he began to let himself relax. _Hope they know it wasn't the sister. Too obvious_. Sherlock listened, and quietly facepalmed at Anderson's theories. God Anderson really was an idiot. Sherlock sulked back and watched them talk while studying his best friend's face. John looked okay, if that's the word you'd use. No more of those old striped sweaters he used to love so much, and it looked as though he hadn't shaved at least three days. "Yeah, I'll be there. Just-give me ten minutes," John's voice pulled Sherlock out of his little trance. He watched Lestrade and Anderson get in to the police car, and quickly drive away. Just as soon as they pulled away, Mrs. Hudson was fussing over John's clothes, "You have no idea how happy I am that you've started eating again. Oh, but just look at you! You've got jam on your shirt."

_'So happy you've started eating again.'_

Mrs. Hudson's words seemed to imprint themselves in Sherlock's mind. _THAT IDIOT._

_God I'm sorry, John._ Sherlock closed his eyes and wished that John could see him, see that he was alright. But he couldn't, and even if John glanced and saw Sherlock sitting next to the homeless man, he wouldn't have been able to recognize him. Like said before, he had taken precautions. His long coats and designer suits had turned into loose hoodies and beat-up old jeans. Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. He had taken his black curls and destroyed them. Too prevent it from curling; it was cut short, shorter than he normally had it. He even went the lengths of dying it ginger. _Ginger__, they better appreciate this._

John and Mrs. Hudson entered back into the flat while Sherlock sat next to the random man, consumed in his thoughts. This whole ordeal, not being with John, not having Mrs. Hudson come and fuss over every little thing in their flat, and having Lestrade always... be, well, Lestrade... was killing him. Sherlock hated being so alone, that was the reason he got a flat mate in the first place. Everyone used to think he was so robotic, he himself used to believe it as well…but the time away had changed him, made him realize that his friends made his life worth living. Sherlock had to find a way to come back, that was the only think he was sure of anymore. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson seemed to be doing just fine without him, but with John it wasn't the same story. He needed to find Moran and end this_...but first things first. Time to follow John to the crime scene_.

Sherlock had a feeling this case wasn't going to be one of the easier ones for John. But he was good, getting so much better at being a Consulting Detective. As his best friend got into a cab and headed towards the crime scene Lestrade had told him about, Sherlock thought of ways to sabotage John. Because he knew exactly what crime scene John was going too, and_ he knew exactly who the murderer was. _

It was a little farm on the outskirts of town, Erik Witron, a man in his late twenties was beat to death in his house. The idiots aka police thought the sister had murdered her brother so she could get the estate, but of course Sherlock knew better.

"Tell me again, what kind of farm is this?" John's voice was suddenly recognizable through all the noisy officers.

"A hedgehog farm. It really isn't that uncommon," Lestrade's 'I'm in charge' voice was clear as day. Guess he was used to yelling over all his minions.

Sherlock was there of course already inside the house tampering with the evidence. He managed to get to the scene first, and spent his time manipulating, changing the little things that might've lead John to the truth.

John and Lestrade were just outside the door talking, so Sherlock picked up his pace. He put the extra time he got from delaying John's cabbie to good use. If you were very observant, you would've been able to see Sherlock just sneak out the back door just as Lestrade and John entered through the front.

"We suspect the sister because she was the immediate family, and when he died she gets everything…including the farm." Lestrade's voice could be heard from outside the house, "It would've went to the Witron's wife, but she died a few years ago of unknown causes."

Thankfully the officers on scene were morons otherwise Sherlock never would've been able to get in or leave the scene without being noticed. But he wasn't leaving just yet. Sherlock crouched right outside the back door listening...to see if his plan was working. All of John's deductions were exactly what Sherlock planned._ Good to know I haven't lost my touch._

"I honestly don't think it was the sister, besides the ownership of the farm, you have nothing else to support that theory. Of course I'll have to have a talk with her anyways. Now what I th-"

John's speech was interrupted by the sound of a phone going off. There was a pause, then John's voice again, "Sorry. I need to take this-… Um yes? Oh. No I'll be right there."

Sherlock cocked his head and listened, as John apologized to Lestrade saying how he had to leave, but promised he'll help find the murderer.

"It's fine, John. I know it was short notice anyways," Lestrade sounded fine with John's sudden inconvenience, "I should be off too…I have something I need to take care of. Oh, but who was that anyway? You took one look at the caller ID and shook your head…"

Sherlock could barely hear John as he let out a little sigh and replied, "It was just Mary."

_Ah yes, Mary._ Creepy as it was, Sherlock knew all about Mary. Reason for that was because all throughout his years gone, there was only one person aside from Molly Hooper who knew he was alive. And that was Mycroft. He cut off all contact with Molly, but his brother was a different story. Mycroft had kept Sherlock updated with everything that went on in London. I mean _everything_. His brother was a Consulting Stalker after all. That's why Sherlock had known that when it came to the case Lestrade was asking John to help with, it wasn't the sister. Mycroft knew something the police didn't. Mycroft knew of Jim Moriarty's affair with the Erik Witron's wife a few years ago. The affair that cost Witron is his life all these years later. From that information, Sherlock deduced that there was only one person could've killed him, and he was going to great lengths to keep John from figuring it out. The last thing Sherlock needed was for John to go _searching for Moran._

Now, Sherlock decided, while slouching next to the back door, that it was time to pay his dear brother a visit. Sherlock cautiously sneaked away from the crime scene and headed off to his place before going to Mycroft's. He wouldn't call it home, 221B was his home…this was just the place where he was living at the current moment. A little beat up old place right in the center of London. Made it easier that way, whenever something happened, Sherlock was positioned perfectly for going in any direction.

So Sherlock flopped on his cot he called bed, and went to his mind all his texting with his brother, Sherlock still hadn't yet visited him since he got back to London. _It's been three years._ Sherlock had gotten used to the fact that he couldn't be around those he cared about, maybe that's why he hadn't bothered even letting Mycroft know he was back in town. Besides, Mycroft wasn't the touchy touchy kind of brother. If Sherlock was going to visit him, it was going to be for good reason. And too Sherlock, _Moran was reason enough._

Sherlock sat up and slowly walked to the door. John was probably with Mary right now, and Lestrade…well he said he had business to take care of so Sherlock wasn't too worried. Mycroft was probably home about now, so Sherlock hid inside his hoodie and walked there. It wasn't too far from where he was staying; guess Mycroft liked being the center of everything too. Sherlock ignored all the prying eyes and cautiously edged his way to his brother's house. Mycroft _was_ the British government…and Sherlock became a bit suspicious when Mycroft's house wasn't surrounded by security. _Well it used to be. Maybe he's gotten over being paranoid, doubtful._ Sherlock wasn't about to knock, since his brother normally had a housekeeper that could identify him in a second, no, he had to do this the hard way. Sherlock wasn't one for all these silly technicalities but he desperately needed information to aid his search for Moran. He found himself scaling the wall into his brother's house and sneaking through the halls to Mycroft's study. He started opening the door without even knocking, I _mean Mycroft never had any one over an- _Sherlock's thought process came to an alarmingly violent stop when he saw the scene in front of him. _Right in front of his eyes._ There was a moan, then the words, "Cupcake, I know you know," Lestrade's voice growled into Mycroft's ear.

"Oh god. No. Please. _No_," Sherlock choked out. That was the last thing he'd ever expected to happen. H is mind totally shut down, and that scenario _never_ happened.

"Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me you were back in London," Mycroft puffed out as he scrambled away from Lestrade. Sherlock deduced that he had never, ever, seen Lestrade or Mycroft move so fast in his entire life, "When did y-"

"_SHERLOCK?"_ Lestrade cut off Mycroft, "Y-yo-ou're dead. What. How. _Sherlock. Answer. Me. RIGHT NOW."_

The look on his face was enough to make that feeling of regret deep inside Sherlock stir…but not quite.

"Detective Inspector I'll have to ask you to please sit dow-"

"_NO_ SHERLOCK. You're dead_. I SAW YOUR BODY_ AT THE MORGUE. I spent all this time trying to fix John because of you and your arrogance. _GOD SHERLOCK_ _DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT DID TO JOHN_?" Lestrade started bellowing at him.

Sherlock was patient all throughout Lestrade's pissed, hurt, and confused rant. But at the mention of John's name, Sherlock lost it, "Listen to me. Listen to me _right now_. You can _NOT _under any circumstances tell John I'm alive. Do you understand?" Sherlock's voice picked up to speed that made his words almost impossible to decipher. "He'll be killed. You can't say anything about me to anyone. _DO YOU HEAR ME? You'll be killed."_


End file.
